Poor Thing
by Elsetetra
Summary: She was a mysterious woman—she had been from the second she crossed into the threshold of the shop, hiding everything. But she was mad, and impossible, and her lovely eyes had seen tragedies and loneliness that one did not soon forget, and try as she may, there was no hiding that. - Mild Lovett/OC in later chapters. Please read & review.
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Sweeney Todd, or anything particularly affiliated with it, but if I did, this is how a sequel to the fabulous musical might go.**

**A/N**: Anyone keeping up with _Pages_ knows I don't often like to do Author's Notes before the chapter, but I decided this one was kind of important.

This story features a female OC, and more importantly, will later feature some very mild femslash. If you're not okay with that (like I said, it's very mild, but still) then please don't proceed, because flame reviews will not be tolerated.

This is all set post-Sweeney; I've always been a big fan of the musical, but our school's recent production renewed my interest in it, and in the end of our production, Sweeney slit Mrs. Lovett's throat rather than threw her in the oven. This story revolves around this concept, assuming Nellie managed to survive, but I'll let the rest remain a secret. You know. Spoilers.

With that being said, I hope you enjoy, because Sophi and this story are a concept I've been working on for quite a while.

Sophia's chosen faceclaim is Jenna Louise Coleman, and this story is presently rated K+ for mild language. Rating has the potential to go up at a later date, but it likely won't.

Enjoy.

* * *

It was a dark and gloomy night. Of course, that's how most nights were in England, so it came as no surprise to anyone in the city of London. In fact, had the weather been particularly nice that evening, the lack of rainfall pattering against the concrete streets and window panes would have disturbed most residents of London, silence at night feeling quite out of place.

Rain pattered against the stony grey ground, and Sophia locked the front door of the store for the night at last. It wasn't like she'd had very much business—she never did—but, having extended the hours of the bakery well into the night in an attempt to reel in a little more money, she'd been exhausting herself staying up. Not like she had much of a choice—if she wanted to survive, she had to make money, and with how awful she tended to be with cooking, that was particularly hard.

Sophia didn't ask for the shop. Her mother Aileen had handed it off to her when she'd grown particularly ill, and Sophia, out of work and, with her mother going off to live with her aunt, out of a place to live, would have been stupid to decline. But then, with no real particular talent in cooking, she was stupid to accept, too, trying to run a whole restaurant on her own. Maybe if her father were still alive, the matter of her finances would be a different story.

Her neighbor to the left was a widowed innkeeper with two children, and the man often fed her. She hated it, really, being treated like some invalid, but considering she couldn't exactly cook for herself, he had her stop in for breakfast and dinner quite often. But nothing in London is free, of course, and it came at the cost of watching his children throughout the day while he was busy at work in the inn. Not that she minded it much; she positively loved children.

At nights, she relaxed. Most of her days were spent keeping the children in line and keeping the grime out of her establishment—her food may not have been the best, but Hell would have to freeze over before she let the place get as filthy as some. She didn't necessarily want to imagine how awful things would be if she were cooking on a regular basis—more than her early morning batch of breads and pastries, almost all of which turned out atrocious and inedible. Sometimes, just _sometimes_, if she was lucky, some would turn out looking particularly edible, and she'd trick some poor bloke into buying her monstrosities. It wasn't often, though. But, despite how little she actually cooked, she found herself quite exhausted at the end of the day and particularly enjoyed being able to curl up in the parlor and just read.

She really rather liked books. Growing up, her mother had been sure that, come Hell or high water, Sophia would learn the value of the more scholarly pursuits in life, and, of course, Aileen had succeeded. To be honest, she actually particularly enjoyed writing as well, but no one needed to know about that.

Just as Sophi began to settle down with a book and some brandy in front of the fire in parlor—a particularly warm and welcoming fire at that—a banging on the door snapped her out of her comfort and she grumbled, standing from the plush chair she'd buried herself in and shuffling out of the parlor and across the considerably colder bakery.

At the door stood a woman whose features she couldn't quite make out in the dark, though Sophi clearly knew she was particularly damp from the drizzle outside, and with a rather piqued frown, the landlady pulled the shop door open.

"May I help you?"

"I'm terribly sorry to bother you so late, love, but you wouldn't happen to have any room to be able to put me up for the night, would you?" The woman asked, and Sophia's frown only managed to deepen.

"You'd do best to ask the inn next door, you know," she replied, and made a motion as to shut the door. Quickly, however, the woman shook her head, trying to push it back open.

"No—see, the problem is, I haven't actually got the money to afford a room there. I've checked with them already, believe me, and they won't take me. Haven't exactly got anywhere else to stay, either, what with no job and a recently closed down living situation."

To be honest, the woman looked positively miserable, and Sophi just couldn't help but take pity on the woman. Pulling the door open and standing aside, she let the woman outside step into the dry, warm insides of her shop.

In the light, it was easy to see that the woman was actually quite pretty. She was certainly aged, yes—couldn't be any younger than 30—but with will defined cheekbones and a soft expression, Sophia had to admit, the woman was quite comely. That didn't distract from the rather unsightly scar on her neck, however, that was easily visible in the light. It was lopsided, and whoever had done it either didn't know what they were doing or hadn't meant to kill the woman, but it was a lengthy and unprepossessing cut scarring along most of the front of her neck. The landlady quickly looked away from it, however—wouldn't want to stare.

Ushering the woman into the parlor, she had her wait for just a moment while she slipped upstairs and grabbed some dry clothes for the other to change into. It was one of two dresses her mother had left, and while it was too big for Sophi's unfortunately tiny form, it seemed like it would fit the stranger better than any of Sophi's other clothes.

The second the dress was in the other's hands, she disappeared into the other room, shutting the door and giving her time to change by the light of the fire. When the woman was clothed, she beckoned the landlady back in, who set the damper clothes in front of the fire to dry and sat the woman down in one of the plush armchairs.

"How did you manage to get yourself in a position like this?" Sophi asked; it was some of the first real, conversational words she'd spoken since inviting the stranger in.

"That's a story longer than I'd like to tell," the woman replied, and Sophia nodded curtly.

"Can I at least get a name, then?"

"Nellie Lovett. Mrs. Lovett is fine if you want, though, dear."

Sophia swallowed hard. Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pie Emporium had been shut down by the law roughly three months earlier due to some murders in the basement and unsavory rumors about human flesh in the meat pies there going around. "As in the pie shop owner?"

"That was my shop, yes," Mrs. Lovett replied.

Sophi couldn't help but eye the scar for just a moment before forcing herself to pry her eyes away, glancing towards her bookshelf to the right of Mrs. Lovett. "I see."

"I don't suppose you want me around then, do you?"

"Well—no, that's not really true…" Scratching the back of her neck, Sophia returned her gaze to the older woman, who was watching her with that gentle expression on her face.

"What about you, then? Surely you've got something I can call you."

"Sophia Somerled," the younger replied. She figured, the other being her senior by at least four or so years, it wouldn't be quite appropriate to request to be called 'Miss'.

"Lovely name," Mrs. Lovett remarked.

After a moment of silence, Sophia asked, "I suppose if you used to own a pie shop, you'd know how to cook then, wouldn't you?"

"Of course."

"Here's the thing—I'm completely useless in the kitchen," Sophia began. "I mean, sure, I keep the whole establishment particularly clean, especially compared to some restaurants, but I can't cook worth a damn and if you're out of work and a place to stay, then I can always rent out some of the upstairs rooms to you and have you work in the kitchen with me here."

"Aren't you the resident baker, though?" Mrs. Lovett frowned. "I'd hardly like to put _you_ out of work, dear; what would you expect to do?"

"I'm the sole employee as well, so I suppose I could just stick to cleaning and playing hostess. Not like I'm good for much else."

"Now, that can't be true, you must have something that you do particularly well."

Sophi shook her head. "Nothing for the business, no."

Considering the other's offer for a moment—honestly, it was an amazing offer, but she wasn't entirely sure she could go back to working with someone in her shop just yet—Mrs. Lovett watched her, regarding the young girl. She was certainly full of youth, not possibly older than 28 in age, and with a pretty round face framed by what had fallen out of the particularly messy bun of her brunette hair, Nellie honestly couldn't help but wonder why the girl was running a shop instead of being married off by her parents.

"How did you ever come by a shop you can't manage, love?"

"It was my mother's," Sophia replied. "When I was 18, she ran off to London to run the shop and I stayed in Oxford doing… well, not much of anything, really, work was hard to come by. But when she fell ill, she went to live with her sister and I came to take the shop back."

"What about your father? Couldn't he have taken the place?"

"Haven't got a dad. He's not around, anyways."

Mrs. Lovett was at least smart enough to leave it at that.

"Anywho." Abruptly, Sophia stood. "I'll go set up one of the rooms upstairs then, yeah? That is, if you'll take the job."

Frankly, as far as Mrs. Lovett was concerned, any work was good work in her current position. Everyone around town knew her name—and a good majority had heard the rumors about the human flesh in her meat pies and her work with the barber above her old shop. Whether said rumors were true or not was a different matter. "Of course I will, dear. It's a perfectly good position and if you've got a place for me to stay, then who am I to turn it down?"

Sophi couldn't help the broad smile that crossed her features, and admittedly, it brought one to Mrs. Lovett's own.

"Wonderful. I'll just slip up and take care of that, then." And with that, Sophi was gone.

Honestly, Mrs. Lovett had expected the girl to be down within five or so minutes—the rooms must have been particularly seldom used. So the woman sat there, and sat, and eventually leaned back and began to relax. And with the warmth of a fire and properly dry clothes and a chair comfier than anything she'd slept in for ages since having left the hospital, who could blame her for letting her eyes drift shut for some rest?

* * *

By the time Sophia returned, Mrs. Lovett was out like a light.

Sure, the bedroom had taken some particular work—the bed left without sheets and every single surface in the room dusty and filthy, the landlady had been up there for roughly a half an hour making sure it was a livable environment. But she didn't expect the woman to have fallen asleep in the chair she'd settled down in over that period of time.

Nothing to be done about that, she supposed; she certainly wasn't going to wake the poor woman up, so she just slipped back up into the bedroom she'd prepared, blowing out the candles and grabbing a couple of blankets off the bed before quietly returning to the parlor. With such care as to not wake Mrs. Lovett, the landlady carefully wrapped the woman up in what blankets she'd grabbed before adding another log or two to the fire and retiring to her own room for the night.

* * *

**A/N**: I genuinely hope you liked this; depending on how popular this gets, I'll likely update this about as frequently as I've been updating _Pages_ lately; if not, you can expect a chapter _maybe_ once a week. Please leave some reviews, all feedback is greatly appreciated and I love all of my readers very much uvu

till next time, friends


	2. Chapter 2

Early in the morning—earlier than Sophia had ever thought to wake—Mrs. Lovett had already set to work in the kitchen.

To be honest, the baker was at least the tiniest bit impressed at what condition the kitchen was left in; it was like no one had ever used it, and while for the most part, it was probably very sparsely used, it was a fantastic place for Mrs. Lovett to find herself working.

She began cooking right away. For someone who couldn't cook to save her life, Sophia certainly did keep a good deal of ingredients around, and getting to work on pastries wasn't hard at all. Humming while she worked, she whiled the hours away, 10 in the morning hitting awfully quickly and Sophia finally shuffling down the stairs to open shop.

The scent of baked goods hit her right away, and as soon as the shop door was unlocked and the little sign up front flipped around, she hurried around the counter to find Mrs. Lovett coming up from the bake room door in the corner of the tiny kitchen. A tray of more than enough freshly baked breads and pastries cooling was sitting right on the counter, and admittedly, Sophia was impressed.

"You made all of this?" Sophia asked, glancing up at the baker, looking a little more thrown than she'd have liked.

"Of course," Mrs. Lovett replied, dusting her hands off on the front of her apron (one she figured Sophia must have worn when she tried to cook, but was hardly used like much of the other things in the kitchen.)

"You've certainly got more patience than I," the younger remarked, grabbing the tray to carry it out to the front counter and set up display; however, she immediately cursed, dropping it back down the inch or so she'd managed to pull it up, quickly cradling her burning hands to her chest.

"Clearly." With a considerably thick rag in each hand, Mrs. Lovett picked the tray up for her instead, carrying it to the front counter for Sophi instead. Upon her return, she tossed the rags to the counter, rendering herself empty handed. "You gonna be alright, dear?"

Frowning, Sophi nodded, regarding her stinging palms for a moment. They were reddened, and certainly in pain, but nothing that would last more than a few minutes, she decided.

"Good," Mrs. Lovett replied, turning back to her work of mixing up some batter. She was quiet for a long moment before adding, "I noticed you didn't have any meat down in your cold storage."

Sophia shared a cold storage room with her neighbor—it was a bit of a walk, but an underground passage from her cellar-turned-bake room to the underground of the inn beside her lead to a particularly sizable cold storage room with a makeshift wall between her half and the innkeeper's half. Her cold storage, however, was actually seldom used, hardly anything down there.

"Oh. Yeah, didn't think there was any sense in keeping something that's going to spoil around if I can hardly even use it."

"Fair point," the baker replied. "You also haven't got a meat grinder."

"…Is that important?"

Mrs. Lovett couldn't help but snicker at the naivety of the landlady. "Yes, love."

"Oh." Sophi remained quiet for a moment. "You're clearly more suited for this job than I am."

The baker hummed. "I think I am." Without warning, Mrs. Lovett tossed a damp rag to the other, refusing to look up from her work for any significant amount of time. "Here, go set to cleaning the shop a little before you go set all the food out."

Barely catching the cloth, Sophia nodded, slipping out into the dining area of her restaurant. If she was going to be perfectly honest, the entire ordeal made her at least the tiniest bit nervous; what with the awful reputation of her shop, there was a good chance that business would remain sparse for a long while, and with the added expenses of yet another person in her shop, if business was poor for too long, it was fully possible that Sophi would lose Mrs. Lovett and be back at square one. It was an awful thought, of course, but it was possible, and it wouldn't quit nagging the young woman.

Sophia quickly let herself get immersed in her work, scrubbing table tops and seats and counters and for the most part, beginning to ignore the outside world. Naturally, it came as a massive shock to the landlady when the front door opened, and she jumped, barely holding back a squeal—customers never came so early in the day. They dropped by at about noon or so, on a good day to be honest.

The man who'd entered looked particularly young, perhaps no older than 22, but he certainly wasn't anyone who'd been in before—that would explain why he'd dropped in. The poor bloke, not a clue about her awful confections. At least with Mrs. Lovett helming the kitchen, he was likely in for a treat, she hoped.

"May I help you?" Sophia asked; her tone, however, was much more welcoming, differing greatly from the tone she'd taken with Mrs. Lovett the previous night with the same exact words.

"This is the Somerled bakery?" the man asked, meandering over to the counter where the baker had placed the pastries and picking over the baked goods with his eyes. "I must say, it doesn't look half as terrible as everyone's said it is."

"Well, you can thank my new baker in the back for that," Sophia replied, standing up straight and brushing her hands off on the skirt of her dress. "Can't say my cooking's worth what a pig can spit, honestly; had you come in any other day you might not be saying the same thing."

The man hummed in acknowledgement at her words, still looking the pastries over. "Say, how much are these tarts here?"

"11 pence, sir." Scurrying across the floorboards, Sophia hurried to the side of the counter opposite of the young man, getting a plate out of the cupboard behind her and looking to him. "How many?"

"Just one." After a moment of consideration, he added, "Actually, make that two, but package one up for me to take home if you will."

Sophia grinned, placing one of the tarts on the plate and quickly moving the box another up while the man sifted through his coinpurse for the 22 pence. As soon as the man had paid and Sophi had slid the pastries over to him, he made his way over to one of the tables in her establishment and sat.

While Sophi cleaned the counters and remaining tables wordlessly, and eventually set to placing the pastries out in the glass display case, the man sat with an equal silence about him as he ate. At one point, Mrs. Lovett poked her head out from the kitchen to be sure everything was running smoothly, and Sophi simply shot her a broad, reassuring smile before the baker retreated back into the kitchen (albeit not before giving a tiny smile of her own in return.)

Eventually the man packed up and left, taking the box with him without another word; upon closer inspection, Sophia noticed the gleam of coins on the table he'd been at, and when she slipped over to clean up after the customer, she was quite pleased to find that he'd left two more pence on top of his payment as a tip. Peering out the window, the landlady watched as he walked down the street, stopped by someone she assumed was a friend of his. They began to talk, shooting glances and gestures towards her establishment, and with panic and worry, the smile quickly slid off her face as she watched them.

Sooner or later the men parted, and her former customer's friend began to make his way towards her shop, and shoving down that lingering feeling of dread, she quickly set back to work before he could join her. The door pushed open just as she took the other man's dishes into the back, and was quick to join the new man in her establishment.

As he removed his top hat, he smiled warmly at the landlady, a gesture she was quick to return as she took her place behind the counter.

"How may I help you?" Sophia asked, placing both palms flat on the countertop and leaning forward a little.

"Oh, I'd just heard you'd gotten a new baker," the man replied. "Is that true?"

"It absolutely is." To be honest, it did sting a little bit to know that everyone avoided her shop like the plague ordinarily, and that the only reason she was actually going to make a reasonable income was the mysterious Mrs. Lovett that she chanced upon, but she _did_ resign long ago that she never would be able to cook to save her life. And she was okay with that.

The man mulled over the various options of pastries in his head while Mrs. Lovett brought a tray of bread out, crossing behind the counter (and behind Sophi) to slide them onto the bread rack as the man thought. He didn't glance up or pay her any particular notice, something for which she was thankful—the man was one she'd recognized to be quite the frequent visitor of her old Meat Pie Emporium, and god forbid Sophi receive the flak for hiring a mad woman. Had the landlady known more about Mrs. Lovett's past (something the baker was going to have to be quite careful to avoid) she likely would have kicked her right back out to the streets, a fate the baker truly was hoping to avoid. And considering she was certain she must have looked like a half-crazed beggar woman, the fact that Sophi actually agreed to take her in was more than she could have hoped for. She wasn't entirely sure where she'd be without her kindness.

The man began to pick some things out and Mrs. Lovett slipped into the back while Sophia gladly obliged and took his money, serving the man. And it was like that all throughout the day as well, the amount of customers exponentially growing as each customer recommended another, and by closing time Mrs. Lovett was far too exhausted to even think about feeding the two of them after how many other's she'd fed that day. It wasn't as though the work wasn't appreciated, but it certainly was a change of pace.

Scrubbing down the last of the dishes in the kitchen, Mrs. Lovett frowned. There was hardly any work left, really, but the motivation to finish any of it up was completely lacking.

Unexpectedly, Sophi appeared in the kitchen doorway, beaming and cheerful; Mrs. Lovett couldn't even think about being so joyful at a time like that. God only knew how the landlady did it.

"Come on, let's go out for dinner," Sophi offered, and Mrs. Lovett looked back up from her work, stunned.

"How exactly do you expect to afford it?"

"We made so much money today, it's hardly a problem if we go out just once." Sophi's expression began to falter, despite her best efforts. "Please?"

Mrs. Lovett managed a tiny smile of her own. "You don't have to ask twice." Drying off her hands on her apron, the baker untied the garment from around her waist before tossing it to the counter and joining the landlady. "'m more than happy to join you, love; I'd hardly like to cook tonight. Just a little surprised that you'd treat a near stranger to something so fancy."

"I had you move into my humble abode upon first meeting you. I don't particularly think that's so much of an issue anymore."

"Alright, fair enough." Mrs. Lovett followed as Sophi walked across the hardwood floor of the establishment, grabbing a tiny coinpurse from the counter. "So where _are_ we headed, exactly?"

"There's this lovely little restaurant just down the street, and I particularly like their sausage, and I figured, since they're not too expensive, and we've got all the supplies we need for the time being, I can afford to treat you to dinner this once." Sophi grinned. "Besides, you've earned it, really."

Considering how scarce food had been the past few months, it wasn't as though Mrs. Lovett was going to turn the offer down. Besides, if the landlady was going to be so insistent upon it, then who was she to say no?

* * *

The restaurant was a short walk away, just two or three blocks down the road, and it wasn't terribly crowded—why would it be, on a Tuesday night? No one was ever out on Tuesdays. The pair was seated rather quickly, as well as tended to; Sophi, after some mulling over her decision for a time, eventually just settled on the bangers and mash like she'd _thought_ she'd decided on from the very start, and Mrs. Lovett—well, Mrs. Lovett never did quite lose her fondness for meat pies, even after what she'd done with them for months.

And soon enough, the alcohol was out. It wasn't a surprise—most people drank wine or beer or gin or brandy or whatever other kinds of alcohol they could get their hands on. Times were hard, and even if most water was particularly clean to drink, many would still prefer the comfort that came at the bottom of a bottle.

"This is actually some awfully nice gin," Mrs. Lovett remarked, eying her glass. She'd only had one, and she did intend to keep the alcohol levels down for the night.

"Oh, isn't it? They're cheap, but they've got plenty of lovely things here. I especially like their meat pies," Sophi replied, and after a long moment of thought and silence between the two, she added, "Talkin' of meat pies, whatever did happen in that shop of yours?"

"Why do you want to know, dear?" Mrs. Lovett frowned; she couldn't say she was particularly keen on people prying.

"Well, if you're going to be living with me, I would like some sort of idea of what kind of a person you are," Sophi replied. Mrs. Lovett was a good woman, a compassionate and kind and soft-spoken one, she could tell, but so much of the woman was still so foreign to her and it made her just the tiniest bit uneasy, if she was going to be honest.

Mrs. Lovett was quiet for a while longer, but finally, she spoke. "I used to own this meat pie emporium under a barber's shop. And it was rather nice, if I do say so myself, even when times were hard. And then along came this man—this strange and mysterious and _brilliant_ man—and he opened up shop above me. And we worked together a lot—" Sophia didn't need to know how—"And everything was good. Even had this little boy workin' with me. Tobias Ragg, his name was. Sweet young boy, always hard working and appreciative of everything he'd ever gotten. This awful old barber used to have him workin' for him, and let me tell you, Pirelli was a terror. I did the boy good, I like to think, took him in and gave him a nice proper home."

Sophi listened quite intently, picturing the barber and the boy and the shop in her mind. She'd never been to Mrs. Lovett's shop while it was open, but she liked to think it was an absolutely lovely place, nice and homely.

"Things went downhill though, you know? Like they always do," Mrs. Lovett considered, her voice sobering considerably as she just watched the table mindlessly. "And I haven't been back to that damned place since."

Sophia frowned. To be honest, it sounded like everything was going wonderful. She honestly couldn't imagine why things had gone downhill; Mrs. Lovett should have been happy in a shop of her own working with a barber and a sweet little boy, and somehow she wasn't, and that baffled the landlady.

"Poor thing," Sophia remarked, referring to the baker, and Mrs. Lovett's blood ran cold at that.

Quite suddenly, the older woman was aware of exactly what kind of position she was in. She was the mysterious stranger to turn up, needy and homeless, on some poor baker woman's doorstep. She was the one with the god-awful past that just turned up and moved right on in and turned everything around for a woman only entirely too eager to help. And if she wasn't careful, she'd be the villain in the end and Sophi would be the one to fall. If she wasn't careful, she'd be Sweeney, and after all she'd been through, she didn't want that. She wanted anything but _that_.

They spent the rest of their meal with little more spoken word.

* * *

Night had long since fallen by the time they left the restaurant, and Sophi walked quietly beside Mrs. Lovett, glancing up at a blanket of vivid stars above her. A tiny hum of contentment escaped her throat, and Mrs. Lovett glanced over, the tiniest of smiles on her face.

"What's that all about, then?"

"I love summer so much," Sophi remarked. A clear night was particularly absurd, especially considering it wasn't really summer yet, but instead, the last few weeks at the end of spring before hot days melted into cool, clear nights, and for three short months, the weather in London was actually perfect.

"I can't say I've ever gotten to enjoy it much myself," Mrs. Lovett admitted, returning her gaze to the road ahead of them.

"That's a shame," Sophi replied. "It really is lovely. My favorite part is the dawn, when the air is still crisp and cool from the night, but the sun has just risen up over the horizon and painted the whole sky the sort of yellow that just fades into a gentle blue. That's the best."

The baker was perfectly content to just listening to her speak, particularly done with talking for the night after what had happened earlier in the evening.

"And the fruits in the market are especially nice, too," the landlady continued. "All the loveliest fruits are in season. I've always thought I might like to run a farm or an orchard and be able to just eat whatever fruit I like without having to cook, but then, wouldn't that get old after a while?"

"I would think so, yes."

"Still, it might be better than not being able to feed yourself. Times are hard, you know, and I think I'd have died ages ago had it not been for my neighbor's kindness."

The smile slipped from Mrs. Lovett's just a little. "Why is that?"

"He fed me. I watched his kids, and he'd let me join them for meals. He wasn't the best cook, but then, he's better than me, you know."

Mrs. Lovett hummed in acknowledgement at the younger's words, and as Sophi went on, filling the silence of night, she wasn't sure she'd rather have spent the evening otherwise.

* * *

"I'll just tend to the fire, alright?" As soon as they were through the door, Sophi was already crossing the floorboards into the parlor to feed and rekindle the dying flame left in the fireplace. "It gets awfully cold at night during the spring, and the sky was starting to cloud up again, so I wouldn't be surprised if it rained while we slept."

"Need any help with that then, dear?" Mrs. Lovett asked, joining the landlady and standing in the doorway of the parlor.

"No, don't even worry about that. Here—your room is just upstairs, the last door to the right at the end of the hallway. There's a box of matches in there, too, so you can light the candles just fine."

Giving a tiny nod in acknowledgement she knew the other wouldn't be able to see, the baker made her way up the staircase and into the dark hallway, lighted only by the especially dim lights of London outside the window at the very end of the hallway.

Her fingertips brushed along the wallpaper as she walked, provided some sort of guidance, and at last she finished the short walk all the way to the end and found her door, sitting at a slant on wall built diagonal where a corner would have been instead, and pushed it open to reveal a dark room which she assumed to be of considerable size. Upon fumbling for the matchbox on the bedside table on the other side of the room, she managed to light one, and set to illuminating the room, revealing its features fully.

It was a particularly sizable room, with olive green wallpaper flourished with swirls much like vines in a green just a shade or two darker than its background. A large double bed sat on the right side of the room, with a dark side table against it, and a dresser sat right across from it to the left. Against the back wall was a bookcase roughly less than halfway filled, and across from that was the window, curtains draped against it and complete with one of those little built in window-seats that Mrs. Lovett had always been so fond of.

Altogether, the room was particularly nice.

Upon further inspection, she found that the dresser was stalked with a few dresses. Only one of them looked like it would fit her well the same way the one she was wearing did, the rest seeming a bit too small; she figured, considering how petite the landlady was, that the other dresses were big even for her, and that was why the baker had been stuck with them. The remaining two, then, must have belonged to someone older than Sophia. Her mother, perhaps.

She was pleased to find that yet another dress that seemed to be of a decent, fitting size was a nightgown, and Mrs. Lovett was quick to lock her bedroom door and peel off that day's dress. It was soon tossed to the floor, Mrs. Lovett's pale bare skin exposed as she unpinned her hair, and before the chill of night could really get to her, she quickly pulled the nightgown on.

It fit in most ways, aside from being a little too short and hardly reaching below her knees at all. Being particularly low cut (lower than most of her own old dresses, which was certainly saying a lot,) it left her packing enough cleavage to set in stone the decision to never to step out of her room in the damned thing for as long as she lived.

She was entirely too grateful for a proper bed to sleep in at once, and she quickly clambered in, pulling every sheet over her and burrowing deep into the bed. The second her head hit the pillow, she was out.

* * *

**A/N**: so this chapter ended up way longer than originally anticipated  
because i would up putting in way way more description than i thought i was going to (i didn't even think i was going to wind up writting what happened after mrs. lovett slipped up to her bedroom so)  
so i hope that's good

a couple of notes i have to make:

a) i'd written the first man to come into the shop with anthony in mind but it's not actually important for him to actually be anthony (and i had the anthony from our production in mind as opposed to the movie production, and this fic is set more in the movie-verse? as in helena would play mrs. lovett and what not idk)

b) any returning readers might notice that i changed the title because 'rise in song' didn't actually seem all that fitting to me (i think i'd pulled it from a young the giant song and then i just decided it didn't work)

but anyways i genuinely hope you guys enjoyed this because this was about five or so hours of work on top of the other fic i'm working on (you guys should totally go read _Pages_ if you're a doctor who fan wink wonk)

and please leave a review so i know what i'm doing right and what to make better uvu and also i love to hear how many people are actually reading and enjoying my story it's quite heartening

until next time friends


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